Undone
by Alexandra.Wins
Summary: Ellie Bartlet is the shy one, the bookworm, the meek middle sister...or is she? My interpretation of Ellie's character, starting at the beginning of the campaign. Involves Sam.
1. Chapter 1

**I was always interested in everyone's reaction to Ellie in the episode where she tells Danny her father won't fire the Surgeon General. All we really know about her is that she's not the favorite, and she wasn't around much during the campaign, etc. This is my version of her history, set around the beginning of the campaign. Involves a lot of Sam. :)**

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In the beginning, I loved my father being in politics.

I loved the men, in their power ties, perfectly gelled hair, and the expensive Italian leather that made up everything from their briefcases to their Gucci loafers.

These were smart men, powerful men. You could feel their power from a mile away, potent enough to raise the hair on your arms.

At first, I loved it because politics meant sitting at the foot of Daddy's arm chair while he ranted aloud, drinking up his enthusiasm for it.

It meant dressing up in his bathrobe and sitting at the opposite end of the kitchen table, banging a wooden spoon and pretending to be the judge or the prosecution or he was appealing to.

It meant the soothing image of sneaking downstairs after bedtime and watching him read some thick volume in front of the wood stove, pretending not to see me until I had finally inched close enough to be grabbed onto his lap, where he would produce a piece of butterscotch candy out of his pocket and swear me to secrecy.

Growing up in a farmhouse in New Hampshire, I had no idea what it was really about. I was thirteen before I laid eyes on the cold, corrupt world of Washington, D.C., and the whole concept was different there. It was a concrete jungle; I saw the men in suits who used to visit my father in Maryland suddenly in their natural habitat, prowling for the weak and fighting for rank, and I didn't like it.

Even Leo McGarry, my Uncle Leo, upheld a stony, calculating expression that I didn't recognize as he stood on the steps of Capitol Hill.

I withdrew from it instantly, but it sparked something in my father. This was his world, and subsequently, ours, and a few years after he won the race for Governor, he had a nomination for the Presidency.

By that time, a lot had changed. My father rarely got in early enough to see me off to bed at night, much less spend time humoring me as I played in his bathrobe, or finding strategic places to hide butterscotch candy.

Plus, I had grown up. I was seventeen and loved men in politics for completely different reasons.

The concept of government still fascinated me. Old rules and new rules, three hundred years ago right up to yesterday. This whole intricate system of rules.

Didn? anyone realize how easy they were to break?

It was amazing how these men, with their clenched fists and iron morals, these graduates of Harvard and Yale and Princeton, these movers and shakers of America.....could be rendered utterly useless by one quick flip of a short skirt.

I was far braver than Liz or Zoey. We all powered through school, upheld the Bartlet legacy of scholastic excellence, and maintained a decent public face. I was the only one sneaking out at night, slipping into the shiny Mercedes and BMWs of the handsome interns who worked for my father by day, getting wasted at their upper crust fraternity parties and having to be carried back to my bedroom window in the wee hours of the morning.

Decent by day, naughty by night.

My senior year of high school, I went to work corrupting Chad Bailey, a gorgeous, twenty-six year old grad student who was interning while writing his Economics thesis. Chad was quiet, modest, and introverted, absolutely the opposite of every guy I'd dated in the last three years. He was a change and a challenge, right when I needed them. It took me the better part of six months to get him to lay a hand on me, and I didn't have five minutes to enjoy my victory before Mrs. Landingham walked in on us in the emergency stairwell, flushed and in a minor state of undress. My father predictably raged at me about the age difference, the public appearance, the immorality...all the things I could've cared less about. Even under the misconception that it was my first offense in such a department, I was sentenced to the summer in office, working for the campaign.

It felt like a death sentence. It felt like a waste of my last summer before college.

I thought the boredom would drive me out of my mind.

I was wrong.

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**Reviews of all kinds will be salivated over.**


	2. Chapter 2

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"Where have you been?"

My father spoke from the doorway of the small office, and I looked up from my book and took the mangled pen I'd been gnawing out of my mouth to answer, "Street corner."

Sexual humor is one of the themes I'd picked for the duration of my indentured servitude to the Bartlet campaign, considering how I ended up there. I thought it was funny on an obvious level, but mostly I just did it to make Daddy squirm.

He rolled his eyes, "Ellie, please..."

"Oh come on, Daddy, give me some credit." I waited for him to relax, then continued, "I mean, I run a private business, and all my clients are Democrats."

"_Ellie_!"

He ignored my grin and got to the point. "I need you to do me a favor. There's someone coming up to work on the campaign, and he can't seem to decode simple cross street traffic. I need you to go get him before he ends up in Canada."

I raised an eyebrow, "The airport's like, ten minutes from here."

"So I tried to tell him. Remind me to thank Leo for recruiting only the best and brightest. Anyway, I got his coordinates and told him to stay put. Feel like running a little re-con?"

I stood and stretched, deciding not to notice my father's wince.

Naturally, he had to push it. "What are you wearing?"

I glanced down. My lacy black skirt and green camisole were revealing, but nothing scandalous. A smile played on my lips and I leaned to kiss him on the cheek, "It's fine, Daddy."

"For you, maybe. For the roving packs of hormonal teenage boys, it's more than fine."

We stepped out together, maneuvering toward the front door just as Mom strode through it. She pulled off her sunglasses and stared at the two of us, "You two the welcoming committee?"

"Hi, Mom." We embraced, then I pulled back, "Dad called me a slut."

His eyes widened a bit, "I did no such -"

I spun around, "Is this outfit too revealing?"

Mom looked it over. "In this heat? I'd be wearing it if I were seventeen."

I smirked at my father, "See?"

"Eleanor, in my mind anything less than footie pajamas is too revealing." He threw the keys at me, "Just get out of here."

I left them laughing, and strode through the parking lot to the open sided Jeep. The air conditioning was already turned up high, but I fiddled with it a little, trying to see if I could get even a slightly stronger blast of the cold air. It was hot, and I leaned away from the vinyl seat slightly so I wouldn't stick to it. The piece of paper was crumpled in my hand, and I flattened it out and read the street corners, rolling my eyes at how close it was. The guy must really be a moron.

But it was a guy, so I rooted around in the glove box and pulled out some tinted lip gloss, applying it liberally in the rearview mirror.

Throwing the Jeep into gear, I drove for what felt like all of two minutes before seeing the black rental car pulled over as promised, on the corner of Elwood and Second street. He was staring at a similar crumpled piece of paper, apparently still trying to figure out where he went wrong.

He turned around and leaned against the car, and all of a sudden it's broad chest and square jaw, and...hold the phone. This summer was shaping up.

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(Sam POV)

I'd had better days. I'd been driving for sixteen hours in a funny smelling rental car with no air conditioning. I hadn't slept in two days, DC is a pressure cooker in July, and there was a fifty percent chance I was making the biggest mistake of my career.

On top of that, some idiot had given me these ridiculous directions, and I was sure I'd made a stellar impression on the governor by calling eight times to report that I was still lost.

Also, some girl in a Jeep seemed to be slowing down and honking at me very pointedly. Honking might be an overstatement. More like leaning on the horn so it sounded in one unbroken wail.

I looked at her, bewildered. We stayed like that for a moment, then she stopped, squinted at a wrinkled piece of paper, and looked back at me.

"Are you Sal Seaborn?"

_What the hell is this?_

"Sam."

"Whatever."

The fifty percent chance this was a mistake? Starting to inch toward fifty-five.

Was this a volunteer? Did they usually send high school girls to greet the members of the senior staff? If Josh had talked me into leaving the firm for some ridiculous ruse, I'd kick his ass.

I gingerly opened the passenger's side door and hesitated again. Her skirt was riding up her thighs to a point that many would debate to be appropriate, and I was not at all sure it wasn't on purpose. The green camisole was modest only in the way that it didn't try to be overtly sexy. The thin straps and clinging fabric mostly took care of that on their own.

It felt like a test. _This car is probably packed with hidden cameras._

She was staring at me. "You need an engraved invitation?"

"No...no," I climbed in and tried not to slide any closer to her than I had to, practically slamming the door on my hip.

She watched with a smirk that made me feel like an idiot and quipped, "I don't have cooties, I swear."

The Jeep spun a few rocks as it pulled back into traffic.

"I didn't think - I don't..." I stopped talking and took a deep breath. "So, why are you here?"

I meant in here as part of the campaign, but she looked at me like I was nuts again. "Well, someone asked me to pick you up."

"Who?" Might as well find out what jackass pulled this on me the first day here.

"My father." Before I could ask, she continued, "I believe you know him as Governor Bartlet."

Well, that explained the whole 'test' feeling.

"You're -"

"The Governor's daughter. Yes. The tell-all book is coming out soon."

Seeing the banner-laced headquarters up the street, I timed about forty-five seconds left to make a salvageable first impression. "So, what's your name?"

She rolled her eyes and didn't answer as she drove up, parked and unhooked her seat belt. Before she got out of the car, she looked at me.

"Save it for my sisters, I'm not your way to give him a vicarious ass kissing." Then she smiled sweetly, "Welcome to the campaign."

She swung her legs down and hopped out, tossing and catching the keys as she strode to the door without bothering to wait for me. I sat for another beat, thinking I probably had the equivalent of an emotional concussion from the last five minutes alone.

I dragged a hand over my face and reached into the back for my suitcase.

I really needed to sleep.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Next chapter is dedicated to Superotter for reviewing! Thanks! I always wondered why they weren't paired more often, too...Sam is a geek, and so fun. :)**

**Oh yeah, and I own nothing.**

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I'd been watching Sam Seaborn since July.

It was mid-August now, and I could tell he was good on the campaign. Really good. Between he and Josh Lyman, I was pretty sure they could've gotten Hitler elected.

And, well...The guy was cute, I couldn't lie. Those were some nice eyes. Too bad he was a jackass.

The worst part of working the campaign office was that I couldn't hide in the shadows anymore, flashing coy looks and a lot of leg. All of a sudden, I was constantly sought out by all these smarmy politicos, because the approval of the candidate's daughter was like the holy grail in this stage of the game. Everyone wanted a name drop to Daddy, and I hated the limelight.

"Ellie, I need you to do me a favor."

_Speak of the devil._

I threw my book onto my lap and looked up at him. "Are we ever going to have a conversation that doesn't begin with those words?"

"We do. Sometimes I like to start conversations by disapproving of your clothes."

I rolled my eyes, "My mistake."

"I need you to help Sam Seaborn."

"No way," I answered incredulously. Nice eyes were not worth being imprisoned in a room with someone.

Daddy sighed. "What do you have against him, Ellie?"

"If you think it's just him, you really haven't been paying attention."

"This is why you're here. If you could just willingly donate some of your precious time for once, until we set him up with someone permanent -"

"What's the problem?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who's giving him trouble?"

He stared at me. "Senator Leavenworth."

I considered it, then glanced at him. "You know Sam got lost between here and the airport, right?"

"Yes."

"That's a six mile distance. With signs."

"I know."

"Signs with arrows, Daddy."

_"Ellie._"

"He can't be that bright, is all I'm saying. It'll be a lot of work helping him out."

He knew I was teasing, but dutifully refrained himself from even cracking a smile, so I matched his deadpan expression until he sighed, "Twenty bucks."

"Two hours, and not a moment more." I stood up and strode into the hallway, crashing directly into the subject of our conversation. He put a hand on my shoulder to steady me, and thus managed to annoy me even more. I hate the gentleman act.

"That's some stealthy eavesdropping," I told him when I had my footing back, and was pleased when he had the decency to look embarrassed. "You do that a lot?"

"I wasn't...I was looking for your father, I didn't know you were..." He paused and looked at me. "I'm never gonna live down the airport thing, am I?"

"I wouldn't get your hopes up."

"Okay." He hesitated for a moment, then started following me down the hall, "So I'm having some trouble with -"

"Senator Leavenworth, I know."

"Um, yeah... also with my file cabinet. If you think you could just work on organizing by date - "

"No, thanks." I walked into his office and slid sideways into a chair, draping my legs over the arm and holding out my hand. "Give me the phone."

He looked amused, "I really don't think -"

"Seaborn, do you want my help or not?"

It was entertaining. I'd never seen quite such a battle of wills go on inside a person. He really, really didn't want to give me the phone. But he also really wanted me to like him. And he was a little curious about how I could help. I waited patiently, and he finally put the cell phone in my hand, slowly and softly, like it was going to explode or something.

I started dialing, and he stepped forward, then back, nervously. "Wh..uh, what are you doing?"

"Calling an old friend."

His mouth flew open again, but I had gotten a hello on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Mark."

"Ellie?"

"I need a favor."

"Sure, anything for you."

I ignored his suggestive tone. "Great. Why don't you tell your stubborn, blowbag father to quit being such an asshole and having fun with my father's staff just because he's feeling a little threatened. Unless of course he's already too drunk, in which case it would be fine if you told him in the morning."

I was pretty sure Sam Seaborn was about to wet himself. Seriously, he was frozen like a kindergartener who's just realized he's not going to make it to the bathroom in time. In his repressed panic, he had shuffled right up next to the chair, and I patted his arm absently, trying to calm him down.

There was silence on the other end of the line, and I picked at my nail polish, phone pinned between my ear and my shoulder. I counted to ten, then counted back down in Spanish before asking, "Mark?"

"...Uh, yeah."

"Okay?"

He seemed to remember himself. "Listen, Bartlet, if you think you can just call me up and -"

"Mark."

"What?"

"Would your father still find it scandalous that you dated a Democrat's daughter?"

It was the understatement of the year. I'm pretty sure Mark Leavenworth Sr. would actually give birth to something if he ever found out his son and I had...well, 'dated' is sort of a euphemism. The point was, the man is a fire breathing personification of the term Republican.

There was silence on the other end of the line, and I roll my eyes. "Just say okay, Mark."

"...Okay." He was barely audible.

"Great. Later!" I snapped the phone shut and handed it to Sam, who's gone from flushed to milk pale.

"You realize I could get fired for that," He finally says.

"You won't." I glanced around the office and gestured to the mess in the room, "Now that that's done, you think you could maybe straighten this up and tell my Dad I did it? I am technically here to paper push, you know."

He looked at me curiously. "It seems like you should be doing something else with your summer. Having fun, getting ready for college. Why are you here?"

_Yeah, we're gonna have a heart to heart now. Right. _

Total jackass.

I smirked over my shoulder as I left the room. "Aww, Sam. Didn't know you cared."

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**Don't worry, she does warm up...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for reviewing guys! I love to feel the love... :) Hope you enjoy...the next few chapters will start to skip ahead.**

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**Sam**

Monday morning, Ellie walked back into my office looking like a condemned woman.

"Hi," I said, glancing up from the laptop for a second, then trying twice as hard to look absorbed in what I was doing.

"My father assigned me to you again. He said he couldn't believe how organized your office was after I cleaned it." She sat on the edge of the desk and glared down at me. "If you could be less of an anal neat freak, it'd help me out a bunch."

I didn't answer for another moment, clattering the keys loudly before stopping. I opened my mouth, but she went on before I could start.

"So, do you have any Senators with sons I can help you with today? Because I am not alphabetizing your books or whatever it is you did."

"Are you saying you've dated all the Senator's sons?"

I almost choked on the wording, worried she was going to explode at me, but she just laughed.

"I think 'dating' takes it a little too far."

I could feel my forehead wrinkling in concern, and steeled myself against it. I'd noticed that she tried to come off that way..promiscuous, like she didn't care. I didn't know why, exactly, but I only hoped she was lying. After all, she was a Bartlet daughter.

"What, you're surprised I'm not like my sisters?"

I nearly jumped. It was like she reached into my brain and pulled the thoughts out with a steel hook.

"C'mon, Sam, that's not me. Liz dated exactly three guys, all run of the mill Ivy League scholars, and she married one of them. Now she's got the kids, and it's a thing. Zoey..." She shook her head. "Well, Zoey's probably going to save herself for marriage or something. I love the kid, but she's a parent's wet dream."

I tried to keep the tone light. "And what are you?"

Her face flickered. Just a shadow, for one instant. Then she smiled, and I find myself unable to not do the same. "Given my choice? I don't know. But I think I'd be a little more Berkeley and a little less Georgetown, you know? I'd go to California, dye my hair blonde...play guitar on the beach for a living, or something else that would make my father die of shame."

She hopped off the desk and flitted out the door with no explanation, calling, "I'll be back!"

I leaned back a bit in my chair, gnawing lightly on my pencil. She didn't give her father enough credit. Governor Bartlet might have been an old fashioned intellectual, but I didn't think he was capable of looking down on anyone, even hippie guitar players.

Unless they weren't paying taxes. He'd probably frown on that.

I wondered how Ellie came to be the black sheep of the family. Liz and Zoey practically ate out of the Governor's hand, and vice versa. He was sweet to Ellie, too, but there was something between them, some subtle wedge.

I was jerked out of my meditation by the phone. I was surprised it had stopped ringing even just for the last ten minutes. I picked it up, and immediately there was another imminent disaster for me to avert.

I hunched over the desk and started sparring with Governor Leibowitz, who was threatening to publically condemn Bartlet's nomination because of a ten year old zoning policy he instigated in New Hampshire, or something equally ridiculous. We all knew he was just bitter because Bartlet's nomination was the one he had wanted, but regardless, it wouldn't look good to have him speak out.

Ten minutes later, I was reminded why I was so ecstatically happy that no one put this guy up for the Presidential nom, because the country would be reduced to rubble in his first hour. No common sense, no humility. It was depressing.

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**Ellie**

I had managed to waste about twenty minutes between the coffee cart and Sam's office, and was making my way back when a tall, wiry blonde girl barreled through the corridor and body slammed me, making my coffee a splattered mural across the white wall.

She stopped for a moment, hand raised to her mouth, then started spazzing out.

"Oh, my God, I am so sorry. That was all my fault. I'm sorry. Here -" She reached into the enormous beach bag she was carrying as a purse and produced a half used roll of paper towels like a magic trick. Before I can blink, she'd swiped all the rivulets of coffee from the wall and buffed it up to a shine.

I stared at her. She couldn't be more than twenty-four.

"I'm really sorry, again," She said awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other, then glanced around the office again, got a determined look on her face and turned back to me, sticking out an impossibly thin, pale hand. "I'm Donna."

"Hi," I said, tentatively returning the handshake, "Ellie."

Her eyes widened. "Ellie Bartlet?"

My throat tightened. I hated it when the groupies found me first. This was so completely Zoey's field. "Uh, yeah..."

"I have a cousin named Ellie..." She glanced around distractedly again.

"Um, cool...Look, do you need directions to the volunteer center, because I can show you -"

"No!" She said quickly, "Um, no, I...I can find my way."

She didn't look like she could even find her way to the end of the hallway, but I wasn't going to push. She was pretty weird.

"Okay, well...it was nice meeting you.."

"You, too!" She ducked her head and scurried away, and I marveled again at how I got stuck with this freak show. At that point I'd been gone for half an hour and I still had no coffee. I decided on a very quick return to the cart, and peeked into Sam's window to see if I could slip back by unnoticed.

He was hunched down over his desk, leaning on both elbows, talking rapidly into the phone with a slightly raised voice. His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked like he'd aged about five years since his first day six weeks ago. He straightened up and tipped the chair backwards, still talking, reaching a hand to the back of his neck and squeezing the muscles there, trying to relieve some of the tension. Unexpectedly, I felt a little twinge of sympathy. The staffers probably hadn't slept a collective eight hours since they arrived. If nothing else, they were dedicated.

I turned around and headed back to the coffee cart, carefully mixing in a splash of milk and two sugars. After a moment's hesitation, I pulled a second white styrofoam cup off the stack and made another, carefully looking around to make sure the Donna chick wasn't going to make a repeat performance.

When I walked into the office again, Sam was off the phone, leaning his head into his hands and breathing deeply. I knocked my foot on the doorframe loudly, and he jumped.

I held out the coffee to him, "Chin up, soldier."

He took it, looking extremely surprised. "You made this for me?"

"Let's not dwell on it. Who was your friend on the phone?"

"Governor Leibowitz."

I rolled my eyes, "Oh, for God's -"

"Yeah."

"That man needs to get laid."

"He's married, Ellie."

"I rest my case."

"You -" He stopped. "How did you know I was on the phone before?"

My cheeks heated up against my will, and I cursed my redhead complexion. There was a small smile on his lips.

"I was going to see if you needed coffee...because psycho girl spilled mine..."

His eyebrows raised, and I sighed, "Shut up, Seaborn."

He raised his hands defensively, still smirking. "I'm just saying..."

I jumped off the desk and stepped towards the door, throwing my hand up at him, "If you're gonna make it a thing..."

"Ellie. Stay."

I had to bite back a remark, but stayed and flopped into the chair. "So what do you want me to do?"

Before he could answer, Josh wandered in looking dazed. "Some blonde girl just took over my office."

I got a lightbulb. "Donna?"

"Yeah."

I pointed at Sam triumphantly. "Psycho girl. Spilled my coffee."

Josh looked confused for a moment, but didn't bother asking.

"Well, did you hire her?" Sam asked.

Josh shrugged. "I guess. She just kind of...convinced me."

"Convinced you." Sam smirked. "She was a blonde, you say?"

Josh glared at him, "We have a meeting with Leo."

"Okay."

"Did you make a fresh pot of coffee?" Josh asked, inhaling the coffee scent and peering at the cup on the desk.

Sam squinted at the memo he's reading. "Uh, no...Ellie brought this."

There was a surprised silence. "Ellie brought you coffee?"

"It's not a thing," I insisted instantly, not looking up from my own cup.

"Uhh, okay. Meeting with Leo, don't forget."

Josh left, and I busied myself with a pile of folders on the desk, expecting Sam to get up and follow. There was a long, lingering silence, and my movements slowed down unconciously. I finally glanced up covertly, keeping my head down.

He was smirking at me with a little hint of something I couldn't pinpoint.

I threw the folder down, but found myself smiling. "You're a smug jerk, you know that?"

"I didn't say a word..." He got up and slipped his jacket on.

"You're a pain in the ass."

"Maybe," He turned around in the doorway and winked, "but thanks for looking out for me."

I opened my mouth to retort, but he was already gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for the feedback, guys! Hope you keep enjoying this...and yes, Toby (and everyone else) will all eventually make appearances. :) xoxo  
**

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**Sam**

It was Friday night, and we'd been ordered to go out.

It was seven-thirty on what was technically still a weekday, and there were probably certain people we needed to be on the phone with still hanging around in their offices...and yet, there we were, in some random tavern, staring at the beers in our hands as if we didn't quite understand them.

I felt sort of dirty.

Although I guess we should have seen it coming. CJ had thrown the basketball through the front window again, and this time it wasn't an accident. A few hours later, Leo made the rounds saying that we were under direct instructions to "get the hell out of here" by seven, to blow off some steam.

I guess it was easy to overlook how stressful campaigning actually was. I stared at Josh, who was sitting across the table from me. He looked sort of pale, and it had been two weeks since I'd seen him without those little worry lines between his eyebrows. I almost thought he looked a little fragile, until he opened his mouth.

An hour later, he was still ranting in outrage about some non-issue he should've left back in his office where it belonged. I was actually staring just over his shoulder appreciatively at a group of coeds, partying hearty a few tables away.

"Josh, it's over," I told him, still looking in the distance, "There's nothing you can do now."

"But it's the principle of the thing!" He exclaimed, not even noticing that I had cut myself short. He was going off again, but this time I didn't hear a word he was saying.

The girl facing away from me, whose backless halter I'd been admiring from afar, had just turned around.

It was Ellie Bartlet.

I'd no sooner realized it than she sashayed up to the bar and leaned over it enticingly, whispering in the ear of the bartender, who was staring down the front of her shirt. He gave her a smile and lead her around the counter, the two of them disappearing into the back.

I didn't even remember getting to my feet, but Josh stopped talking and looked at me in confusion.

"Sam? What are you doing?"

"Ellie Bartlet is here."

"Ellie?" He glanced around, then back at me with a worried expression. "I don't see her anywhere..."

"She's here," I told him again, and it was like I couldn't get a full sentence together.

Josh stood up and looked again, then laid a hand on my shoulder in mock concern. "Do you see her _now_, Sam?"

I shrugged his hand off, "Shut up and follow me." I made my way to the bar and walked around the counter uninvited, heading for the back hallway. In the back of my mind, I was aware that I may be overreacting, but somehow it didn't seem important.

Ellie had worked in my office every day that week, and she had abandoned the outright verbal assault for a more teasing, immasculating humor. I was taking it as a good sign. She was great company, and while her staunch anti-political stance was grating and the cause of many pointless debates, it had become glaringly obvious that she was an extremely smart girl.

The tiny, non-incident on Monday with the coffee had been running through my mind more times than necessary, and every time I saw her, it was evoking feelings that I'd been very careful to squelch before they're definable.

Right then, of course, my brain was conveniently skipping over all of that.

"Uh, excuse me," A waitress tried as we blew by her, but there was no time for her to say anything else. I charged down the hallway, opening doors on both sides of the hallway, visually sweeping every corner.

The third door on the left revealed Ellie, sitting crosslegged on a couch across from the bartender she'd walked out with. She shrieked a little in surprise, one hand coming up and pressing against her chest.

"Um, dude, this is a restricted area for staff -" The bartender started.

"Oh, really?" I snapped, tearing my eyes off of Ellie and turning on him, "Well, bars are generally restricted for minors, so if you want to discuss rule enforcement, I'm going to have to ask you what she's doing here."

The shock had faded from Ellie's face, and in it's place was an expression that made my knees tremble a little. She got up and stalked over, dragging me by the arm into the hall.

Josh was standing there, awkwardly. He scratched the back of his neck and gestured awkwardly back to the bar before booking it back the way we came.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ellie demanded.

"Me? You're the one getting dragged into a backroom by some rapist in a shady, illegal, minor serving bar!"

She just stared at me. She stared for such a long time, I actually started rethinking the last ten minutes. Then she spoke. "Sam, listen to me. I hang out here all the time. It's fine. I know these people. And that -" She gestured through the doorway to the guy on the couch, "Is Javier. He's been gay since he was in kindergarten, and he's one of my best friends."

I cleared my throat a little, and tried not to wilt under her gaze.

_  
Come on, Sam, you're a lawyer. There is a point to be made here._

"You're still drinking underage," I insisted somewhat weakly.

Not the most eloquent, maybe, but a valid point. Except maybe not so valid, because she just rolled her eyes at me. I jerked a little in surprise as she stepped up to me, and put her hands on my shoulders, standing on tiptoe. Her mouth parted slightly, and she leaned closer.

Was she about to kiss me? _Oh, God._ And on an even worse level, why was I more or less okay with that idea? I was hazy, my eyes were half closed, I couldn't bring myself to resist...

And suddenly there was a light, warm breath on my face, then nothing as she drew away. I opened my eyes all the way quickly, and she was completely devoid of the lusty expression I'd hoped for.

..._Had_ I been hoping for it? What the hell?

She completely mistook my speechlessness for embarrassment at being proven wrong.

"Yeah," she snapped, "no booze breath, right? Nothing but Colgate and Altoids."

I opened my mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "It's a principle, Ellie. You're eighteen, you shouldn't be hanging out in a bar for God's sake..."

Okay, it was lame. She knew it, I knew it, and Javier, who was very conspicuously eavesdropping, knew it.

"I can't even begin to tell you how much this is not your business. But if you'd like to discuss it after I've had a shot of tequila, I'd be more than happy to tune you out."

I did a double take. "I thought you weren't drinking!"

"I didn't say I wasn't _going_ to be. I was just proving I wasn't abducted in a drunken stupor." She rolled her eyes. "By Javier, of all people, which you should have been able to tell just by..." She gestured at him vaguely, and I saw her point. I must have missed the cheetah highlights, red painted fingernails and woman's blouse he was wearing in the dim lighting of the bar.

"He was looking down your shirt," I protested weakly.

"Yeah." Ellie hooked a thumb under her sleeve and pulled out an inch or so of a metallic, silver bra strap. "He's attracted to the shiny."

"But you're admitting to drinking tonight."

"Sure."

I felt like I was losing it. "You can't just tell me this stuff and expect me not to say anything to your father! l work for him!"

She rolled her eyes. "Cool down, Sam, quit being such a girl."

"I'm serious. We're running a campaign here. I like you, Ellie, but that doesn't mean I can just keep things that are illegal under my hat like this."

She's gave me a calculating look. "You like me, huh?"

Did I say that? Yeah, I did. There was no evidence it wasn't a platonic kind of like, though.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" I said innocently.

She stepped closer to me. "No...I mean, you _really_ like me."

"Wh-what do you mean?" I reminded myself quickly not to retreat back a step. Or stammer again.

Ellie smiled a coy little smile that made me fear her. "I'll tell you what, Sam. You don't tell my Daddy that I like tequila, and I won't tell him about the very incriminating look on your face a few minutes ago."

"Ellie, I don't know what you're -"

"Yes, you do." She stretched up on her toes again, hovering her face near mine, and whispered, "Your eyes were closed...you were about to lean in. I saw you."

She pulled away. "So let's call it square, huh?"

I was silent for a moment, trying to make my brain slow down. When I couldn't, I decided for a quick exit instead, at least trying to look brave in the interim. "This is the last time I'll be quiet for you."

"Shakin' in my boots."

Her insolence killed me. "You're a pain in the ass, Ellie."

"Maybe..." She grinned as she fed my words back to me, "But thanks for looking out for me."

I turned around to go, pausing awkwardly to nod at Javier, who was waving merrily at me, before striding down the hallway.

*****************

**Ellie**

"Who's the cutie?" Javier demanded as I walked back in from the hallway.

"Just one of my father's lackeys."

"Never seen a lackey chase you through a bar before. You doing him?"

I looked at him, insulted. "Javi, you know how I feel about politicians."

He raised an eyebrow back, "Ellie, when a guy looks that good, it doesn't matter if he's a garbage man." He picked at a cuticle, glancing at me from under his lashes. "Besides, you know the power trip gets you off."

I huffed indignantly as I settled back onto the couch. "What kind of power trip?"

"The fact that if your father wins the election, Mr. Lackey will be a major pusher. Also, the power to get it on with members of your father's staff while knowing he'd lose his mind over it."

Javier was getting excited, and turned fully to face me, grinning. "The power of indecent proposals, Ellie...the legacy of Lolita...the -"

"You're grossing me out. First of all, I'm eighteen and Lolita was like, twelve. Second, John Lennon was a major pusher. People on my father's staff are just a bunch of puffed up morons trying to get someone else's money into their pocket."

I glanced at him, "You sound pretty into it, though. If it turns you on, I can get some numbers for you. I met a mail sorter the other day who was wearing lipstick, so I'm pretty sure you've got a shot..."

Javier just laughed, "You're not gonna distract me that easily, baby doll. I think you're hot for...what was his name?"

I jumped off the couch again in a mock show of frustration. "Who cares! The only man I'm interested in right now is of the Latin variety. I believe he goes by Jose Cuervo."

I grabbed the amber bottle off the counter, and Javier and I started passing it back and forth.

**************

*


	6. Chapter 6

**Enjoy Ch. 6...we get back into Sam's head pretty soon. Keep the reviews coming! **

**P.S. Alix33, you're right...immasculate vs. emasculate. :)**

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**Ellie**

My father is the President.

My father is the President.

My. Father.

Is.

The President.

I feel like I seeing the room through a particularly foggy piece of glass.

There's so much noise that I can't hear anything.

Josh picks me up and spins us in dizzying circles, screaming something intelligible.

My mother collapses on me in a sobbing heap, and I stand limply as she hugs me.

I watch my father stand in quiet joy with his hands in his pockets, looking like he's just fulfilled the task his entire life has been leading up to, which he has.

I just stand. I don't feel anything.

Zoey's found Mom now, and they're crying together. The air is thick with confetti and loud music.

My stomach coils slowly, like a snake, and all of a sudden I hear everything instead of nothing; the din rushing at me like a speeding train. I turn and dart out, making it to the bathroom just in time to crash into the single stall and throw up my one glass of pre-celebratory champagne. I wait for a minute, but nobody follows me in, and I breathe a sigh of relief. No one saw me go. I walk shakily over to the sink and run cool water over my hands, rinsing out my mouth. My reflection looks back at me, not betraying anything. I don't look sick, or afraid. My hair's upswept. My makeup's subtle. I'm picture perfect and elegant, and I look nothing like a stupid, crazy kid who just booted all over the bathroom for no reason.

Reassured by that, I rinse my mouth a second time and head for the door, shoulders back, head up. Sam's waiting precisely one foot away on the other side, and I jump.

He grins and yells, "You're a first daughter!"

I relax. He doesn't know. I find myself smiling back, "Thanks for the update!"

We're practically screaming to be heard.

"Here," he holds out another glass of champagne, which I take even while remembering the fate of the last one, "I know you're not old enough, but this is a night you'll remember for the rest of your life."

I look around the room, and suddenly I'm proud. Of CJ, Toby, Josh, and Sam for winning the election. Of Leo for being the master of the universe.

Of Daddy, for doing as well as I know he's going to.

For now, I just want to leave it at that.

I look back at Sam, blinking through the confetti that still continues to fall, and retort belatedly, "Old enough? I could drink you under the table, Seaborn!"

He laughs and moves off. The rest of the night is a whirlwind.

Daddy gets pretty drunk. Well, everyone gets pretty drunk, except for Leo.

I dance with everyone on the staff including CJ, who's surprisingly agile for her height.

And Josh's father dies, which is inconsequential to some, slightly dampening for others, and halting for a few. I find Donna outside on the steps an hour after he goes to catch the plane, with a bottle of champagne all to herself and a wet face.

"Nothing," she says when I ask what's wrong. She tries to smile. "Nothing, Ellie, just a lot going on tonight."

She means the election, but she means something else, too. Something about the mysterious past she hasn't relinquished to anyone yet.

I wonder what it is that Donna ran away from. I wonder if she misses Wisconsin. I wonder who it is she's trying to prove wrong. I wonder if she's in love with Josh. I don't wonder any of them aloud, though. I sit down next to her and take a drink from the bottle, and she drops her head onto my shoulder like a little girl.

"Everything's changing," She murmurs, "it never stops, you know?"

I run my hand through her hair a few times like Mom does for me when I'm sad. It feels like silk thread. I take another drink from the bottle. "I know."

"I've never been part of anything this big," She continues, "I...I've never actually been a part of anything, really."

I laugh in disbelief, "Why don't I believe that?"

She smiles, but shakes her head, and the look on her face is wistful.

I tap her hand gently with my index finger, "Tell me."

"I couldn't if I tried."

"Try anyway."

Donna looks startled, but sits thoughtfully for a moment.

"I got lost," she finally says. "I thought I knew what I was doing, but I got so lost."

"What were you doing?"

She looks at me, and I'm startled, suddenly looking into the face of a stranger. Tonight, Donna isn't perky and neurotic and adorable. Her face, half covered in shadow, is filled with a wisdom I'd bet few people know she has.

She smiles like she's trying to remember what it was like to be eighteen. Like she's thinking about what she would do differently. Then she shakes her head a little, bringing herself back to the question, and shrugs noncommitally. "There was a fork in the road. I took the wrong one, that's all."

She reaches down into her purse, laying haphazardly on it's side on the step by her foot, and pulls out a tall, thin package, and an equally tall, thin cigarette. I glance at the package, but don't recognize it.

"They're French," she explains, lighting it and offering me a puff, "my ex-boyfriend brought them back from his last trip to Europe."

I inhale the smoke and marvel at the vanilla flavored filter and light, creamy smoke. The only cigarettes I've ever smoked were the ones I stole from Daddy's hidden packs, but his were manly and heavy with menthol.

"I teased him about liking girly cigarettes," she says as if reading my mind, "but he loved these things..." She brings her hand up to her mouth again and inhales, hollowing her cheeks and then exhales through her nose. The smoke clouds around her, and she looks like the portraits I've seen of twenties era silent film actresses.

A small smirk crosses her face. "Good thing I wiped out his entire stash before I headed out here. I like to think of it as reparations. Besides, they're clearly for ladies."

I laugh, and watch her smoke it all the way down to the filter. She definitely looks like a lady.

She leans over and stabs it out on the concrete, carefully burying the butt under a small mound of dirt. When she turns back, she looks like herself again, not so sad. Impulsively, I lean over and bump her shoulder with mine.

"So when are you going to hook up with Josh?"

She thinks for a second, then gives me one of her signature charming answers. "At exactly the wrong time, probably."

It might be the champagne, but for some reason this strikes us both as incredibly funny, and we giggle uncontrollably, sprawled on the steps until people start leaving the party. Sam is the last one out, weaving slightly, and Donna and I each take one of his arms and walk the block up to the hotel.

"How are you two feeling tonight?" He asks, gesticulating wildly and almost clocking me in the face. I grab his hand gently and guide it away from the path of destruction.

"Giggly," Donna says innocently, and I snort laughter down the neck of the almost empty champagne bottle.

Sam looks back and forth between us with a clueless grin pasted on his face. "What?"

When neither of us can answer, he keeps walking, dragging us along.

"Okay!" He says jovially,"I won't ask."

******************

**Still Ellie...Inauguration Day**

I sat the whole drive to the White House with my face inches from the tinted window, my breath steaming it slightly on every exhale.

I wanted to be in Maryland. I wanted to be in Manchester. Hell, I wanted to be in Neverland, anywhere but there.

And yet, there I was. Dressed to kill, of course. It wasn't Inauguration Day every day. It was a beautiful ceremony, I admit. The words, the uniforms, the American flag. It was just like a scene in a movie.

Except the parts the movies don't show.

Like the photographers getting into scuffles for pictures of little me, or my sisters. The opposing press and politicians in attendence, staring at my father with thinly veiled hostility, barely containing themselves from throwing their public appearance aside and just descending on him like a pack of rabid hyenas.

The look on the face of the bitter loser, who still managed to give me a dirty old man wink as I stood up to applaud, perusing my ass like it's a T-bone he's about to sink his teeth into.

And I know it's not just me. I'm convinced it's the interworkings of the whole government system. Everyone's a number, a label. A piece of meat with a dollar value per pound.

It's not for me. It won't ever be for me.

But it was the post-Inauguration dinner, and it wouldn't look right if I wasn't there. I had a distinct feeling I was going to be doing a lot of things I didn't want to do to keep things "looking right".

I couldn't wait for college. Baltimore, where I at least wouldn't have to include White House affairs in my daily life.

Suppressing the slight nausea from the sight of the reporters gathered in the receiving bay, I got out of the car with what I hoped wasn't an ugly expression, and tried to make my way through the throng as quickly as possible.

"Ellie, what's the atmosphere tonight?"

"Just a social dinner," I answered neutrally.

"Ellie, what's new with the Energy Saver bill?"'

"How should I know?"

"Ellie, _what_ are you _wearing_?"

My head snapped up at that one, and I searched the crowd. At a stretch, it was a viable question, if it hadn't been asked in an over the top Mother Hen voice, mocking my father could only mean -

"Danny!" My face broke into a sudden grin, and I barreled straight into the reporters and fought to the back, throwing my arms around him.

It had been three weeks since I last saw him, and I had underestimated how much I would miss him once we weren't on the campaign trail. The first time we'd met, it was very early in the works. I was only seventeen and doing my interview for his book about Mom. I'd gone out of my way to give him unnecessary hell, and he'd done the same to me.

We'd pretty much been pals ever since.

"Whoa," He said, patting my back tentatively, "And here I thought you didn't like me much."

I didn't answer, grabbing his hand and hauling him with me through the doors into the lobby. By the time the door closed behind us, he was laughing.

"Ellie, you can't just _do_ that."

I'd pulled the glove off of my left hand with my teeth, and I stopped and stared at him questioningly, the glove hanging from my mouth. He snatched it out and handed it to me.

"It shows favoritism among the press," He said to my unasked question.

Shame on him for thinking I care.

I shrugged, pulling off the other glove. "So? You're my favorite. It they want to print it, at least it'll be the truth for once."

He stood there looking amused, and I was struck again by how much I'd missed having him around. Danny never patronized me for being Bartlet's daughter. He never treated me like a kid, never tried to get me to trip up or weasel a story out of me.

I stared at him pretty profusely, because he started getting this freaked out look.

Impulsively, I stepped forward and eased his coat off his shoulders, folding it neatly and handing it to him. "By the way, you're coming to dinner."

"Ellie, I absolutely should not do that."

There was a brief pause.

"Which is exactly why you're going to," I finished for him.

He grinned. "Yes, yes I am."

He offered me his arm, and we ascended the stairs together.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello - I'm posting the next two chapters together, because they both take place on the same night and feel like they need to be read together...enjoy.**

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**Ellie**

I already hated this.

I had been raised to tolerate rooms full of pretentious agenda pushers, but this...I already hated this. It was suffocating. I stood in the corner and tried to be invisible.

Dad, as always, barged into my plan in that charming way he has.

"Ellie! The Bartlet's own Jan Brady!" He boomed, and my eyes darted momentarily to the wine in his hand.

_Uh-huh. Call me Jan Brady sober and get a foot in the ass, Mr. President._

"Hi, Daddy," I said, the end trailing off in confusion as he took me by the elbow and dragged me off.

"I want to show you something," He announced, striding quickly down the hall.

"Okay..." I gentlly but firmly extracted my elbow from his bruising grip.

He noticed. "Oh. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm a little overexcited."

I smiled a bit, "I know."

"I want you to see Leo's office," he continued, pushing open a door.

I raised an eyebrow. Leo's office? I don't give a rat's -

Oh.

It's the Oval Office.

My breath caught, and I had to admit, no matter what one's opinion of politics, it was pretty amazing.

I turned and looked at him questioningly. "Leo's -?"

"I wanted to throw you off." His eyes were twinkling. He looked like Santa Claus. "But let's face it, it practically is Leo's office. Everyone knows I'm just his puppet."

"Yeah..." I murmured, not really listening. I wandered through the office, ghosting my fingertips over the desk, the impeccable decorations.

"Pretty impressive, right?" His tone was quieter, not so flamboyant.

I looked up and smiled, "Doesn't get much more impressive than this, Daddy."

He beamed, and for some reason, I felt my eyes prickle at the corners. I threw my arms around him impulsively and he squeezed me so tight I couldn't breathe. It occured to me that in eighteen years, I'd never seen him this excited about anything.

"You're gonna do great," I said over his shoulder, and he squeezed even tighter in thanks. I could practically hear my ribs crack, but saying something would have ruined the moment, so I kept my mouth shut.

Then the moment ruined itself.

He finally pulled back and held me at arm's lenth, smoothing down my hair with one hand.

"Your mother and I have been talking a bit," He began, and my heart jumped. It never ended well for me when they did that. "We were thinking, because of the outcome of the election and all the opportunities it presents, that maybe you want to stick around closer for school. There are a lot of places that would be glad to have you on short notice. Georgetown, of course, and -"

I'd been shaking my head for a full ten seconds before he stopped talking. "No."

"What?"

"I'm going to Baltimore."

I didn't mean to sound so clipped, but waiting for Johns Hopkins had been my salvation for getting through this election, and there was no way in hell I was giving it up.

"Well, Hopkins is a great school, Ellie, sure, but in D.C. you could go -"

"I really don't -"

His voice raised a note, but I don't even think he knew it. After all, he shouted people down for a living. "Zoey's going to Georgetown in a year or two, you could show her all the ropes. You could stay in your room in the Residence. Your mother and I just feel you girls need to take advantage of what's -"

"I said no." That time I did mean to sound clipped.

He started to get the exasperated expression he gets when he feels like I'm arguing something that is just perfectly logical. "Well, can't you even think about it?"

"No."

Now he was exasperated. "Ellie..."

"No, Daddy. I've been waiting for Johns Hopkins since I was sixteen. I don't want to go anywhere else."

"Your father's the President, and you don't even want to take two seconds to re-examine Washington, D.C.?"

I looked him straight in the eye. "No."

He paused for a long time, mouth open as if he was going to say something, thinking. Finally, he shrugged at me and smiled. I can tell he's still a little annoyed, but it was too good a night to get all the way there.

"Well. We can talk about it tomorrow. Your mother has a few thoughts on the subject as well."

One more reason to dread tomorrow.

"Come on, we should be enjoying ourselves. We're entering into what I'm sure is going to be the most exciting four years of all of our lives..." He walked ahead of me out the door, hands waving wildly, sounding like himself again.

I looked back once more at the Oval.

It really was beautiful.

**Sam**

Ellie walks in looking stunning. Stunning and grown up. Tonight, she could walk into any bar in D.C. and not get carded.

...Okay, bad analogy, considering that's apparently never been an issue for her.

Her red hair is up, and her black dress is long; strapless and slinky, covered in tiny sparkling rhinestones. The President walks her in, pretends to have just noticed the dress, and offers their standard line, in mock outrage, "What are you wearing?"

I walk over, trying not to look too rushed, but not being able to stay away either. Josh beats me there just as I hear Ellie rebuff her father, "Daddy, this is not too revealing."

"I'd say it's just revealing enough," Josh pipes up, and the President turns to give him one of those looks that makes you feel like he's about nine feet all.

"...Although that'd just be an inference, since the only part of Ellie I've ever seen is her...lovely face..." He finishes.

"That's right." Bartlet pokes him in the chest and moves off. Josh whispers something to Ellie that makes her laugh, then he moves off, too.

She's talking to Danny Concannon of all people, and I briefly wonder how the hell he got in here. Predictably, it takes about three seconds for CJ to spot him, and the two of them to start playing cat and mouse. As Danny moves off, I take the opportunity to slip up to Ellie, holding out a flute of champagne. She gives me a long look before she takes it, and takes a small sip.

"Tryin' to booze me up again, Seaborn?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation.

We stand in a few moments of silence, and I feel like it's up to me to say something. "So are you, you know...excited?"

She's smirking, I can tell, even though she's not looking straight at me. "Are you propositioning me, Sam?"

Oops. Really should have reworded that. And I should be able to come up with a witty retort effortlessly. I am a writer, after all.

Instead, I get flustered. "I didn't...I don't...I wouldn't..."

"Sam, for God's sake, would you get ahold of yourself?" She deadpans, sounding for all the world like Leo.

"Yeah," I say, running a hand over my face,"sorry."

She stares out at the guests. "Are you excited?"

The witty retort that evaded me the moment before jumps into my head.

"Well," I begin smugly," I -"

She cuts me off with a look. "Don't."

My voice hitches, and I clear my throat. "Yeah, okay."

"I don't even need to ask anyway. This is your thing. You and Josh and CJ...you've been working for this for a really long time."

"Yeah," I agree, unsure why she seems a little upset.

"I'm going to Baltimore," She blurts out of nowhere.

"Yeah, I heard. That's great."

"You heard from who?"

"Your mom. She told me you were thinking about Hopkins..."

"Not thinking," She corrects sharply,"Going. For sure."

She seems offended that I didn't know.

"Oh..well, that's great, Ellie, that you decided."

"I decided two years ago. When I was sixteen."

Something clicks. I nudge her with my elbow and she glances up at me. Her eyes are pissed. Yeah, I'm on board now. "Parents are trying to talk you into D.C., huh?"

She freezes for a moment, then her shoulders slump. "Yeah. Daddy speaks three languages, but he doesn't seem to understand 'no' in any of them."

"Don't listen."

"What?" She looks shocked.

"I know...probably not the best way to start off the job, undermining the boss, but this is your future. If you've wanted Hopkins for two years and you still do, the presidency shouldn't have anything to do with it."

She nods a little, but sighs. "Yeah, but you don't know my family, Sam. They'll support it, but I'll spend the rest of my life hearing, 'If you had gone to Georgetown...'"

"They just have D.C. fever, Ellie. They'll get it out of their systems when Zoey goes, don't worry."

There's a beat, and then she flashes me one of those rare genuine smiles. "Thanks."

"No problem..." I take a sip of champagne. She's still standing a bit stiffly. Time to break the ice.

I nudge her again. "So tell me the truth. The real reason you want to go to school far away is your dream of keeping all the frat houses full of happy boys -"

She spins to face me. "Excuse me?"

Works like a charm.

I feign concern, "Well, I don't know. I can't give you advice just so you have an excuse to get trashed all the time under your parent's radar..."

Ellie snorts. "Oh sure, 'cause I've never done that before. And who's handing who the champagne around here?"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, in the White House, in the same room as your parents. And I'm sorry, if you're trashed after one glass of champagne, I'm going to have to start teasing you about redefining the term lightweight."

There's another beat as she realizes I'm teasing her and laughs.

"I'm going to miss you," She blurts, then looks completely mortified.

Before I can open my mouth, she's gotten around me and gone to stand next to Zoey. As if I'm not willing to go through the sister to get to her. I start to follow, but the President announces dinner, and I find myself sitting diagonally from her across the table instead.

**************


	8. Chapter 8

**Kind of Chapter 7 continued. Switches POVs a lot.  
**

**************

**Ellie**

This night officially sucks.

I knew it wasn't going to be pleasant, but I didn't expect this.

Between the reporters, and Dad, and the fact that the collective egos of everyone in this room could power a semi for fifty miles...

It's bad.

Then there's the fact that I just said something really, really stupid to Sam.

_'I'm going to miss you.'? What the hell is wrong with you, Bartlet?_

I'm pretty sure my face is about the color of the Pinot Noir Toby is filling my goblet with. Briefly, I wonder what it is with my father's staff being so carefree about ponying up the booze all of a sudden. Then I glance at Zoey's glass and see that it's full, too, so it must be tradition.

_...Oh God, I told Sam I was going to miss him._

I mean, I was pretty much his assistant during the campaign. I stopped hating him by mid-summer, and he actually really grew on me. But I don't even tell people in my own family I'm going to miss them. That's about ten steps too touchy-feely for me.

_'I'm going to miss you'._ It repeats in my head like embarrassment torture. My mouth puckers a bit, and I can't decide if it's because the wine is so dry or because I can feel his eyes burning a hole in me across the table.

So I fall back on the tactic that's always worked: _ignore him_. Closely followed by: _get drunk_.

I drain my glass quickly, and when the second bottle comes around, I fill it to the brim again. My eyes fall on Leo as I gulp down another mouthful, and I feel a stab of guilt. It almost seems sacreligious to get drunk in the same room as him. I worry that if he ever sees me with a drink, he'll think I'm disrespecting him. I know it's not the case, but even so, when I put the glass down I edge it a little towards CJ's plate, so no one can tell if it's mine or hers.

On nights like these I wonder if I'll grow up tempting alcoholism. It's not like I run around every day getting wasted to escape my problems, but tonight...I go back over my conversation with my dad about college and accidentally groan audibly.

Donna, sitting on the other side of me, looks startled. "You okay?"

"Uhh, yeah, just...." I glance around frantically, then point to my plate,"got a lima bean."

She doesn't believe me, but she just smiles her little smile and squeezes my knee under the table.

I totally love Donna. For whatever reason, we're just soothing to each other. Donna's soft, and caring, and warm. She understands things and doesn't ask too many questions. And she just has that quality about her, that unnamable thing. It's girl-love. I pat her hand, and pick my fork back up, eating absently, tasting nothing. I feel trapped, and that's my least favorite feeling in the world. I feel like someone screwed my release valve shut and now pressure is building up inside me at a frightening pace.

I eat a lima bean, and don't even notice.

***********

**Sam**

She's getting drunk at dinner, and I can't believe it.

Here, in front of the White House, the President, and God himself, she's getting drunk at dinner. Although, to her credit, no one seems to notice but me. She's obviously been perfecting this for years. I can only watch as she carefully trains one eye on each of her parents, waiting until the moment they're both distracted, to fill her glass again silently, her movements as smooth and fluid.

Our eyes meet for a moment, and before I can look away, she smiles and tips the glass in a tiny toast. I almost fall out of my chair. She knows I'm watching, and she doesn't even care. Throughout dinner, I count three full glasses of wine. For someone of her size and age, I would have expected a lot more effect than it's seeming to have on her. But maybe I'm underestimating how often she does this.

Somewhere between The President's boisterous biography of some random historical figure I've never heard of - he's had more than his share of wine himself - and the First Lady's speech, Ellie has disappeared from the room.

Twenty minutes later, Josh drags me into a corner and starts yapping about some memo I need to finish for tomorrow, and even though he's not exactly telling me what to do, I take the hint and head back to the West Wing. Once I'm there, I sort of forget what it is Josh thought was so important. Instead, I think of Ellie telling me she'll miss me.

That kid mixes signals like she's a high powered blender.

We were friends this summer. We were. But I figured it was like the friends you make at summer camp. You're there for a purpose, it's intensive, you learn infinite amounts about each other. But when camp's over, you never do more than the occasional Christmas card. Now the campaign is done, the election is won. Camp is over. And despite my own thoughts on it, I was pretty sure Ellie wouldn't even bother with the Christmas card thing. Hearing her say that was like the whole holiday season coming early, and I should have told her I'll miss her, too. I should have said something nice.

I should have done anything other than making cracks about her screwing frat boys.

I rub my temples and check my email to distract myself, take out the crumpled stickie note Josh gave me and try to remember what I was supposed to be doing.

********************

**Ellie**

There's only one office light shining dimly in the bullpen, and I know it's his. And somehow, I'm glad, because I know this is all his fault, and I have a sudden urge to yell at him for it.

Someone has to answer for this.

I'm making my way toward the light, a little unsteadily, making sure to grip the neck of the bottle so it doesn't break. I'm vaguely aware that I'm drunk. My footsteps feel fuzzy, like I'm walking on clouds, and I raise up onto the balls of my feet and tiptoe, enjoying the sensation. When I get to the doorway, he's leaning intently over a desk full of papers, concentrating or doing a very good impression of it.

I stand still and watch, finally bringing the bottle to my lips for a drink, and the quiet sloshing alerts him to my presence.

**********  
**Sam**

Ellie's a silhouette in my doorway, leaning against it with one hip jutted out, her slinky evening gown catching the light and sparkling. She tilts her head back to drink, and her neck is long and arched and elegant. Something in her stance makes me keep my mouth shut. The tension is palpable; she's here on a mission, and I just wait.

Her face is in shadow, and when she speaks her voice is quiet. "Did you know I never wanted my father to run for office?"

"Really?"

"Did you know?"

I hesitate, trying to tread carefully, "Uh, no..."

Luckily, she doesn't seem to need my participation in the conversation.

"Liz was already grown up with a kid. Zoey was too young. But I knew what it meant." She moves forward into the light, and she's just beautiful, cascading red hair and porcelain skin. She's Romeo's Juliet, Dante's Beatrice. She looks down, and her hair falls across her cheek, "It meant no more Daddy."

Suddenly, her hatred of politics doesn't seem so strange. Suddenly it doesn't seem like a foolish teenage rebellion. All of a sudden, it's a million answers as to why Ellie Bartlet is the way she is.  
Her eyes are glassy from alcohol and tears, and in them there's nothing but sincere pain, raw and throbbing. She takes an unsteady step forward, and I notice the bottle swinging from her hand. It's vodka, undiluted. No wonder she's suddenly so candid.

"Ellie," I say gently, "Your father never wanted to make you compete against his job."

"No," She agrees, "But he did, and I lost."

The first tear falls, and I get a pained jerk in my stomach that I steel my face against showing. She seems surprised by it as well, and takes a step back, her expression getting a bit harder. She seems to remember her purpose.

"And you...you should be apologizing to me." The bottle waves for emphasis, "You're always helping him."

"Well, that's my job."

"Yeah? Well -" And that's the end of the whole thing, because she can't keep it together, and bursts into tears, the kind that come with so much force you know they've been a long time repressed. She's leaning forward, clutching the edge of my desk with her free hand, and her hair is swishing back and forth across my stack of memos.

I'm frozen.

************  
**Ellie**

I know that somewhere deep down in my reptilian brain, I'm mortified that I'm having a meltdown in front of Sam Seaborn.

I'm supposed to be yelling at him right now. He's supposed to be getting a serious piece of my mind. And yet, all I can seem to do is clutch this desk like it's a life preserver, and cry.

The room is absolutely silent except for me, and an undeterminable amount of time passes in which I can't seem to stop. Then his chair sqeaks, there's footsteps, and I feel a hand on my back, rubbing lightly up and down right under where the dress begins to show my bare back. Even in sympathy, he's too chivalrous to touch any bare skin without an invitation.

It almost makes me roll my eyes, but I keep them tightly shut instead. He slides the bottle of Absolut from my fist and sets it on the desk, then pulls me into a hug with what feels almost like determination, as if he's fulfilling a duty. I don't resist at first, but he's stiff and uncomfortable, and after a few moments I pull away and force myself to rein back the emotions.

"Sorry," I say, shaking my head. "Sorry."

*****************

**Sam**

"Don't apologize," I told her, and I meant it. I felt like I should be doing something, saying something better, but I was at a loss.

Hugging had proven itself a bad choice. Velvet skin and silk hair on that tiny frame, whimpering against me, and the only thing I could do was remind myself that she's only eighteen.

And that I'm a bad, bad man. Which is pretty useless in terms of helping.

She was staring at me like she didn't know what to do either, and I felt like I should make a suggestion, since I was older and wiser. Or something.

"You, um, want me to walk you to your room?"

_'Oh God, did that come out suggestive?_'

I held my breath for a second, but she was smiling, pulling it back together amazingly fast, but her bottom lip still trembled as she opened her mouth to speak. "Okay."

On the first step, she stumbled a bit, resting a hand back on the desk to steady herself. I remembered suddenly that she was completely trashed, and my eyes fell to the glass bottle on the desk. I picked it up and slipped it in the top drawer of my file cabinet, daring her silently to protest. Where the hell does an eighteen year old loot a bottle of vodka from, anyway? She didn't say anything, and I turned back and held out my arm to her. She took it, releasing the desk, and we walked slowly through the bullpen. It was almost a full minute before I realized she was staring up at me, looking almost puzzled. I smiled and pretended not to notice, but she pulled back when we reached the corridor.

"You can go."

"No, it's okay." I stepped toward her again, but she shook her head.

"Don't treat me like your boss's daughter."

I was shocked. Is that why she used to hate us all so much? She was staring at me, waiting for an answer, so I put the thought on hold.

"I'm not. I'm treating you the same way I treat any drunk woman who cries all over me."

I meant it as a joke. I was trying to tell her that it didn't happen very often. I even hoped she might laugh a little. Instead, she snorted incredulously, and that hostility which was apparently just simmering under the surface, makes a repeat performance. "Please, if that were true, you wouldn't even be bothering to take me back to my room. You probably would've tried to get in my pants right there in your office."

Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to put the vodka away. I could really have used a drink just then. Or I could have given her more, so she'd just pass out already. It'd be a hell of a lot easier to just throw her over my shoulder and get her to the Residence if she was unconcious. I was contemplating going back for it when I realized her mouth was still moving.

"...C'mon, honey, it's a nice desk...we're in the White House...I'm a big, powerful man..."

She was mocking me. With the high pitched voice and everything.

"Ellie, that's bullshit and you know it."

Wow, my own voice came out pretty high pitched. She was glaring at me again, and at that moment, I prefered the crying.

"Oh, please. I know you inside and out. You're the same as the rest of them...albeit better looking."

It inflated my ego a little more than it should have, but regardless, enough was enough. I grabbed her wrist and dragged her back to my office. I could tell she was sort of resisting, but ultimately too drunk to really do anything but stumble along behind me. I pulled her inside the office and slammed the door. She fumbled weakly for my chair and collapsed into it, rubbing her forehead.

When she was collected, she looked up, pissed again. "What the fuck, Seaborn?"

I ignored her and started pacing. "You want to know about me, Ellie? Really? Okay."

I flopped into the chair on the opposite side of the desk, and leaned forward. "I like J.D. Salinger. A lot of people told me I was a cliche for getting moved by The Catcher in the Rye, but what are you gonna do? My guilty pleasure is bad eighties' pop music. I own an original copy of Paula Abdul's Forever Your Girl . I have never eaten a pickle because I'm weirded out by the idea that it's a cucumber in disguise. During college, I studied almost every Saturday night for four years."

I waited for a moment to let that sink in, and tried in vain to shut up the part of my brain that was hoping she wouldn't remember the Paula Abdul part in the morning.

She raised an eyebrow at me, unimpressed. "All you've done so far is convince me that you're a huge loser, which wasn't really in question."

"When I applied for college, I wrote down Political Science as my major. While my friends went through English, Business, Art History, Journalism....my major was Political Science. It never changed once, because this is what I've always wanted to do. I'm here because I believe in change, and I want to help do it." She didn't answer, looking down, but she wasn't telling me to shut up either, so I invited myself to conclude. "The point is, I'm not here for a personal agenda, I'm not here to get connections, or spy, or screw anyone over...I'm not here to do anything that's going to hurt your father, Ellie."

When she glanced at me, her eyes were shining a bit. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. "I want to go to my room now."

"Do you believe me?"

She didn't answer, so I sat, unmoving, until she finally rolled her eyes and spoke. "Sort of."

"Well, I'll take what I can get."

She smiled, and suddenly there was no air in my lungs. Then she stood up and swayed a little. I automatically followed, grabbing her elbow, "How about that walk to your room?"

Her brow furrowed, and she hesitated.

"I'm not going to try to seduce you with the fact that I have a fancy desk or my position as a 'big, powerful man'," I teased, echoing her words, then contemplated it for a moment, "Not that I'm disputing either..."

"Shut up," She said absently as she came around the desk and reached for me.

Reached for me. I was stunned.

Then she tripped, and I was less stunned.

_'Cool it, lover boy, she's just trying not to fall down.' _

When we arrived at her door, she pulled her arm out of mine and I leaned on the frame and looked at her for a moment.

***************  
**Ellie**

"I'm sorry I hated you on sight for being in politics." I knew I was going to curse myself in the morning for being won over like this. One little speech should not sway me, this guy was a professional, and I'm an idiot. But he seemed so sincere. Tonight he felt like a real person, like actual company. He was a gentleman, he was sweet...and I didn't think anyone would admit owning a Paula record unless they were really desperate to make a point.

Sam glanced at me. "You're forgiven. I'm sorry for assuming you were some brainless Lolita because you showed up in a short skirt listening to Top 40."

I rolled my eyes, then regreted it as the corridor spun, "Glad you noticed the skirt."

"It was hard to miss."

"This is a strange night we've had."

"Really strange."

"There's a chance I'll totally ignore you tomorrow."

"Okay."

I didn't know what else to say. I was still sort of steeling myself not to like him, but it was hard, especially as he stood there looking so rumpled and adorable, and even harder as my knees wobbled and I knew I had to lay down.

"Well...goodnight," I finally said, edging past him into my room, clinging to the doorframe.

"Jesus, Ellie," He muttered as my knees gave, and practically carried me the rest of the way to my bed, which I rolled onto gratefully.

"Sam?" I heard myself muttering. "I'm gonna go ahead and say thanks before I black out. Then you should probably leave."

"Aren't you going to ask me not to say anything?"

"Huh?"

"Aren't you worried I'll tell someone what happened? That I'll sit down with your father for a well timed discussion about.." - He dropped his voice - "..'something he should know'?"

He was teasing me. I'm inches from unconciousness, and he's teasing me.

"Shut up," I reprimanded, squinting at him, "This is the worst night of my life."

His face softened again, and he ran a hand over my forehead and into my hair, then leaned down and brushed his lips across my temple. "No, it's not, kiddo. You'll see."

I wanted to answer, but my eyes were closed then, and his voice was coming from the other end of a very long tunnel. I think I hear him say goodnight, but I don't have the strength to answer.

******************

**This part really breaks the ice between the two of them. The next parts are very fun. Reviews are love. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks so much for the feedback, guys! It helps a ton. And don't worry, Superotter, there's some Sam-angst in the future, especially during the MS arc.  
**

**I felt like we should spend some time with Sam since the last chapter focused a lot on Ellie. Enjoy. :)**

*

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***  
**

I can't believe I work in the White House. All those hours I spent standing in front of the bathroom mirror with a tie over my pajamas, practicing speeches with the door locked....

Actually, I'm not going to elaborate on that further.

But the first day here feels amazing. I can feel the power of the country surging through me like I've taken the reins of an untamed stallion. Everyone else feels it, too. Josh and Donna are practically making out, the President's singing Puccini, and I even caught Toby with a smile today, just sitting in his new office, staring into space. CJ's promising The Jackal.

It's been a good day.

I was unpacked by ten-thirty in the morning. Now I sit at my desk and spread my hands over the leather protector. Cathy has over zealously written down my schedule for the week in color coded pens and laminated it, and I push it until it's corners are perfectly aligned with the edge of the desk. My books are alphabetized. My aloe plant is thriving.

I'm home.

I'm focusing, trying to really memorize the moment, when the phone rings, and it takes me a second to remember I'm supposed to pick it up.

"Sam Seaborn's office."

"How much did you just get off on saying that?"

I grin. "Josh? We work in the White House."

"Yeah."

"How did you get this number?"

"Well, don't tell anyone, but I sort of know your boss."

"When do I get your number?"

"You don't. Quite frankly, I'm worried about sexual harassment."

He hangs up, and I lean back and kick my feet up onto the desk. The sun is beginning to set, and dusky evening light is filtering in through the slats in my closed mini blinds. I lean over and twist them open, and gold light spills into the office, illuminating the whole room and my panoramic view.

If I crane my neck enough, I can see the edge of the rose garden peeking around from the side lawn. The voices and phones in the bullpen filter through my door combined in one low, soothing hum. It's almost relaxing. I sit and look out the window until the sun is almost gone, and the light changes from dusty gold to copper red. It reminds me of Ellie's hair, spread across her white pillowcase as she fell asleep last night.

I glance at the phone. Maybe I should call her, just to make sure she's okay. Just to be friendly.

That's what I tell myself at first, but for some reason, sitting there in the red glow, I'm unable to deny that it's because I'm attracted to her. Really attracted. And for two minutes as the sun sets, it feels okay.

*

**************

*

Five minutes later, it feels very not okay. The sky is dark, the door is open, and the warm, red glow has been replaced with oppressive fluorescent lights which are fusing reality back into my brain. I'm almost panicking. I can't feel this way, it's ridiculous. I open my laptop, and start trying to convince myself why.

Twenty minutes later, I'm staring at what is still a fairly short list.

She's abrasive. She's petulant.

She provoking, vexing, and agitating.

She's...

I lean over and yell into the bullpen. "Cathy? What's another word for annoying?"

"Agitating."

"No."

"Vexing."

"No."

"...Provoking?"

"NO!"

"Sam..."

"Sorry, never mind." I slam the laptop shut, reminding myself firmly that I'm supposed to be doing actual work, but the list continues in my head.

She's aggressive. She's determined.

She's witty, gorgeous and smart._  
_

_And she's eighteen years old, Seaborn, so you best steer this train of thought back onto the track from whence it came._

She's an eighteen year old who is more self assured than half the adults I know.

She's Bartlet's daughter.

Okay, there's no getting around that one. Besides, I'm an adult, a professional. I hold a position of very high esteem now. I might be in for a four year term of secretly salivating over the middle Bartlet girl, but I'm not stupid.

Nothing's going to happen. Nothing _could_ happen, and I'm convinced that this whole thing is on it's way to over already.

Then I think of her laying on that bed, sleeping, helpless and vulnerable, electric eyes full of tears, and my resolve melts again. I should call to make sure she's okay. Just to check. Just to be a gentleman.

I am a gentleman. It's how my mother raised me.

I pick up the phone and put it back down in one smooth, circular motion.

_  
No, I'm an idiot. _

I cover my face with my hands and groan loudly.

"Cracking under the pressure already?"

I jump, whipping my hands away from my face and cracking my hand viciously on the edge of the desk. Ellie is sitting on my desk a la Marilyn Monroe, short skirt, crossed legs, certainly not looking like someone who'd passed out drunk less than twenty hours ago. I automatically raise my hand to my mouth as I stare at her, sucking on my scraped knuckle absently.

She reaches over and pulls my hand from my mouth. "Now, now. Don't spoil your appetite for the nine millionth Presidential dinner tomorrow."

"Are you going?" Oh, nice entrance to the conversation. You sound like a hopeful little schoolboy. I try to cover it up. "I mean, you didn't get in any trouble or anything last night?"

She looks at me like I'm nuts, "Uh, no. Is there anything I _don't_ know about how to cover a hangover?"

Of course, Leo comes in just in time to catch that. He glances at both of us, then focuses on Ellie. "Ellie, are you corrupting my staff with your tales of debauchery?"

She hops off the desk and goes to kiss the cheek he offers, "Every chance I get, Leo. See you later, Sam."

I stare at Leo, who's leafing through a folder. "How did you get her to like you?"

He looks up, brow furrowed. "What?"

"Ellie. How did you get her to like you?"

"I met her when she was ten weeks old, Sam. I let her play with my key ring. It pretty much sealed the deal."

"Right." I run a hand over my face, "Sorry."

He studies me. "Why?"

"She just seems to draw great pleasure from torturing me, that's all."

He starts smiling. "Oh, really."

"Stop smiling."

"Excuse me?"

_Whoops._ "Nothing."

"Give me a practice briefing for CJ."

I spend the next ten minutes summarizing the newest statement about osteoporosis from the American Dairy Association. When I finish, Leo looks bored.

"Didn't we know this already?"

"Yeah," I admit, "I think they just like to release it every now and then so people don't forget."

"Whatever." He stands and starts for the door, then stops and turns around. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"About Ellie...if you want to get on her good side, don't treat her like a kid. She hates that."

"But she _is_ a kid," I say eagerly. Probably best to remind myself of that as often as possible until this little attraction spell is over.

But Leo shakes his head, looking solemn, "Not really."

He leaves, and I ponder momentarily if someday, I could argue that in that moment Leo gave me permission to be attracted to her.

I squash it. Leo would kick my ass. And anyway, it would have to be President Bartlet, not....Wait, am I thinking about this? I'm thinking about this. I'm seriously thinking about this.

_Oh God._

I start pacing, and CJ pokes her head in. "Sam? I need you to write a response to the American Dairy Association telling them that they will not be getting any time in the President's press conference because their statement is a bunch of crap we already knew."

A task. A mindless task. Sweet distraction.

I grab CJ and whirl her around the room. "Yes! I will write to the Dairy Association! I will knock the very socks off the Dairy Association!"

CJ pries herself out of my grasp. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I needed a distraction."

"From what?"

"Uhhh..."

She holds up a hand. "Never mind. I don't want to know. Just make sure - "

"I'm writing to the Dairy Association now," I cut her off, sitting at my desk primly and replacing a rogue pen in my Yale mug, "Shut the door on your way out, please."

CJ rolls her eyes, "I swear, you people are like a walking asylum."

I start shuffling papers studiously, and she walks out, closing the door. She seems stressed, but I don't care. I have a distraction.

I open my laptop and focus on the screen.

She's abrasive. She's petulant.

She provoking, vexing, and agitating.

_....Dammit. _

_*_

_**************_

_*  
_

I'm emailing the Dairy Association letter to CJ when my phone rings again.

"Sam," Josh interrupts before I can say anything, "You wanna go out tonight?"

I kick my feet up on the desk, amused. "I think that's a bit of an inappropriate question for the workplace, Mr. Lyman."

"I...Okay, I walked into that one."

"Beers tonight at that place on the corner?"

"You bet your ass!" I hear Donna scream in the background, and figure I must be on speakerphone. There's a slight commotion, then Josh speaks again, sounding breathless. "Sorry, Donna started the party a little early."

"Where the hell did she find -?"

"You know those liquor filled chocolates, with the Presidential seal on them?"

"Good lord, she is a lightweight."

"She ate the whole box. She smells like brandy."

"Oh." I decide not to comment. Jokes aside, Josh really shouldn't be smelling his assistant.

"Anyway, meet me in the bullpen at nine?"

I smirk, hearing his grin over the line, and parrot his earlier words. "How much did you just get off on saying that?"

"I could've made babies."

"See you at nine." I hang up.

**  
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	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you guys for the feedback! It's so fun to write this knowing people are actually reading it! XOXO**

*********

*

**Ellie**

I had gotten word of a small get together at the corner bar from eavesdropping on a group of staff aides in the bathroom. I was feeling saucy, and decided that a lame party with staff underlings was better than my exciting planned evening of reality television at home.

I was just drying my hair when there was a knock at the door, and Daddy stepped in.

"Hey, hon."

I squinted at him, trying to decide if he was about to ask me a favor. His face was relaxed and he had his hands in his pockets, so it looked like the coast was clear.

I turned around. "Hi, Daddy."

Luckily, I was still in my robe, so we were able to skip his inevitable heart attack when he was the outfit I was planning to wear. Still, my makeup was done, and it was clear I wasn't staying in.

"Where are you off to?"

"Party." I turned back to the mirror.

"Mom said okay?" He asked absently, and I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah. Right after she tied my shoes and mashed up my peas."

Dad cut his eyes at me. "You're a young woman in an unfamiliar city. Knowing your whereabouts is not a ridiculous request. Anything could happen."

"I'm sure the fine members of my Secret Service detail would be honored by your faith in them."

"It's not them I'm worried about."

I put down my eyeliner pencil and looked at him in the mirror. "I see. Well, don't worry. I'll be starting school in two weeks, then you won't have to worry about any potential embarrassment."

He closed his eyes. "Why does everything I say to you come out wrong?"

I'm taken aback. He actually sounds remorseful.

"Most of what I say comes out wrong, too," I offer, and he gives me a small smile.

"Have fun tonight."

"Thanks," I murmur as he heads back out the door. For a moment, I feel like I might cry. It's true, once I go off to school, we'll see each other even less, and I haven't realy let myself think about it. I always told myself we'd reconnect when I was older, but now I'll be pre-med and he'll be leader of the free world, and when will our paths really cross?

I squash the thought as quickly as I can and pull open the closet door. The summer is cooling a little as Fall approaches, but it's still warm enough tonight to wear my favorite halter...midnight blue silk, plunging neckline and laced up back. Perfect with my best jeans.

I dig for some decent shoes, hoping some of the more laid back staffers plan on showing. Most of the younger ones are straight out of the Ivy League, desperate to start networking in the administration. I feel like letting loose tonight, and the last thing I need is to get sucked into another hour long discussion with Harvey Steiner about the pros and cons of outsourcing.

********

*

**Sam**

I should have known she'd be here. She manages to find out about every party, no matter who's attending or hosting.

She looks amazing. I honestly haven't noticed who else is in the room. Luckily, it's dark, and my staring is somewhat masked by the strobe light flashing from the dance floor, but I can't take my eyes off of her. It's a smoky little hole in the wall bar, and she's dancing and laughing, completely in her element. I feel like I'm watching the most exotic animal in the zoo.

She looks up and catches my eye, and her face breaks into a huge smile.

"Samuel!" She breaks away and rushes over to throw herself at me. I catch her out of instinct, and she pecks me on the cheek and laughs, kicking her feet a little as they dangle off the ground. "I didn't know you would be here."

I put her back down, glancing around quickly to see if anyone noticed the exchange. I almost breathe a sigh of relief until I meet eyes with Toby, who's seated at the bar with a cigar and one raised eyebrow. I shrug, but his expression doesn't change.

"Sam," Ellie says, distracting me. "Come dance with me."

I jerk back, startled. "Dance?"

"Yeah." She does a little spin. "Come on, I'll have them play 'Straight Up' for you."

The Paula Abdul confession has literally bit me in the ass every day since.

"I don't dance," I insist, pretending to wave to someone across the room, desperate to escape.

"Sam," Ellie says seriously. "Dinah Weston is coming over here, and if you don't follow me this second, I will totally throw you to her mercy."

Dinah Weston was supposed to be Toby's assistant on the campaign trail, a girl Donna's age who had a truly terrifying crush on me. She had been fired at least three times, but she continued to show up to staff functions, and occasionally even to work. 'Pulling a Weston' had become the highest insult over the summer.

Suspicious that it was a bluff, I glanced over my shoulder casually. Sure enough, Dinah was fighting her way through the crowd, and I shot Ellie a helpless look.

She grinned. "That's what I thought."

Just as we made it to the floor, the music switched to slow, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Slow dancing was okay. If ninth graders could do this at winter formals, so could I. Just as I was about to start fretting about how close you're allowed to hold your boss's young daughter during a slow dance, Ellie brought her arms around my neck and just melted against me with a sigh.

My first thought was that she was maybe she was drunk again. I dismissed the thought, though. It was early in the night, and she'd obviously spent most of it dancing, because she felt kind of spent as she leaned on me, letting me control the tempo. She was totally relaxed, and for whatever it was worth, I was glad she had decided to trust me, or even like me.

A minute or so went by, and she pulled back to look at me with a smirk on her face.

"What?" I asked, and she shook her head as if to tell me I was an idiot, sliding her hands down to meet mine where they were planted very tamely at her hips. She urged one to the small of her back and whispered, "Relax, Seaborn."

The whisper set every hair on my neck on end, but I tried to pretend I didn't notice, clearing my throat. "There are a lot of people we know in here, Ellie, I don't think it would look very appropriate if -"

"It's dark in here, Sam. People are dancing. No one cares. And we're not doing anything wrong, right?"

There was something in her voice as she asked the question. I looked at her, and we were only inches apart. I knew what she was saying was true; no one was watching us, we were just two people in a crowd. As for doing something wrong....dancing isn't wrong. Holding her a little closer wasn't wrong.

It was the other things. The tone in her voice, the way she was moving her index finger lightly up and down the back of my neck, the way I was extremely aware of how soft her skin was under my hand...

Technically those things aren't wrong.

"Quit thinking," She said, and I startled. She laughed. "You're always in your head, Seaborn. Come out and join us in the rest of the world."

"I'm here," I muttered absently, and I must have had a really intense look on my face, because she stopped laughing and leaned her forehead against mine.

"Yeah, I know. I see you."

*

***********

*

**Ellie**

It's really sexy watching Sam lose all that self control he has. All that organizing and strategizing and making lists, fighting with the part of him that really, really wants to kiss me.

As always, he holds back, not daring to actually take the plunge. Just in case he's wrong.

My hand is already on the back of his neck, and I tip his head down towards me slightly, looking up at him for one more second before gently brushing my lip against his. I pause, keeping my eyes closed, to see if he'll continue, but he's still hesitating. His lips are soft, almost like a girl's, and I'm about to break the tension by making a crack about him using Bonne Bell lipsmackers when he kisses me back.

I can feel that he's still holding back. His hands are tame, and he's being very gentle. He moves to the corner of my mouth, then my jaw. His breath is hot on my ear as he whispers, "Ellie, please stop me."

_Like hell._

I grab his collar and drag his lips to mine, and all of a sudden I'm introduced to talent I've never experienced before. His hands are everywhere at once. He kisses so softly and smoothly that I feel like I'm melting my mouth in butter. We're in a mental cocoon until the music changes, and it's a hard beat with bass that shatters the ambiance.

I force myself to pull back first, because all of a sudden I feel woozy and soft and vulnerable, and I'm not sure I like it. He lets me step back, but the fabric of my top is still bunched in his fists, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't even notice. I chance a look up at him, and his eyes are smoldering.

"You didn't stop me," He accuses, almost as an afterthought, and I shake my head.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want to."

That seems to snap him out of it a little. A bit of that adult guilt flashes in his eyes, and he opens his hands, then tries to smooth out the wrinkled silk against my belly. When he speaks again, it's a resigned whisper.

"We can't do this."

No, _he_ can't do this. He must realize by now that none of this means anything to me. I don't live my life for the public, that's my father's job.

"It's my job, too."

I guess I said that last bit out loud. He has a point, but I'm not admitting it. Instead, I decide to be a bitch. I slink back up to him, pressing my whole body against him to whisper in his ear, "That's a shame."

Then I turn to leave, slipping out into the alley and heading to the street for a cab, shivering with leftover tension.

I don't make it.

My back slams against the concrete of the building, and I'm almost smothered by the coarse fabric of a suit jacket. I open my mouth to gasp, but it's silenced by Sam's mouth, and all illusions of gentle are gone. The current between us is purely desperation, of people throwing away the the thought of consequences to have what they want, when they want it.

I've recovered my motor skills, and my hands are going up to his neck, when suddenly the metal door we came through scrapes open, and we both jump back guiltily.

It's just a couple of coeds, linking arms and heading off toward the street without noticing us.

Sam and I look at each other.

There's no going back now, no denying or misdirecting. He's kissed me, I've said the words. The only decision to make is what comes next. And he's waiting for me, looking at me quietly, asking me to make up my mind.

So I do.

He smiles a little, recognizing both the potency and the ridiculousness of the moment. A breeze picks up and twirls the long strands of hair around my face, and I see his breath catch.

He takes a step towards the street and looks back at me, reaching out his hand.

I take it without hesitation.

***********


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi guys...I'm sorry about my extended hiatus, and I hope you're still with me. I have a lot written, but I'm always excited for feedback. Enjoy, and I promise to get back to regular updating! xoxo**

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I wake up warm, and my eyes stay closed, enjoying the sun beating on my face through the mini blinds.

...Except I don't have mini blinds, and my house doesn't smell like Polo Blue cologne. Slowly and sleepily, I crack one eye open, and the wall directly in front of me comes into focus. Not my tacky picture, not my wall, not my room.

That's when I hear the masculine sigh of the person still sleeping on the other side of the bed, and a hand lands on my hip, flexing and relaxing lightly in slumber. I take one look at the impeccably groomed cuticles and instantly remember who I'm with.

The whole night floods back as I wake up fully, and I sit bolt upright and squeak like a chew toy.

"What?" Sam asks no one in particular, sitting up as well and looking around with wild eyes and tousled hair. His gaze lands on me, and I must look panicked, because he grabs my hand. "What's wrong?"

I jerk away, and he looks confused as he watches me slide out of bed away from him, dragging the comforter off the bed after me. He grabs the sheet for himself, then flops back on the pillow. "Ellie? What's up?"

"We're idiots," I tell him matter of factly. "This was an incredibly stupid thing to do."

He blinks a few times, then rubs his face with his palms. "Okay. Is this some kind of role reversal, because I think those are supposed to be my lines."

"It's not funny, Sam."

"Maybe not, but it's also way too early to be having this conversation." He gropes around for the room service menu. "How do you feel about pancakes?"

"I feel like eating pancakes is not taking this seriously enough."

Looking at me with equal parts exasperation and affection, he puts the menu down and pats the bed. "Okay. Come here."

"No," I refuse, crossing my arms and leaning against the dresser. "I think it's best that we maintain some space while we figure this out."

He laughs. "Thanks for that vote of confidence in my self control."

"I just think -" I trail off as he stands up, wrapping the sheet around his waist and making his way toward me.

"For the record, I am perfectly capable of having a conversation with a woman in a hotel room without mauling her." He takes me by the shoulders and maneuvers me back to a sitting position on the bed, then joins me.

I relax a little. "That isn't the experience I had last night."

"One instance of exception," He agrees, "Although you did your fair share of -"

I punch his arm to cut him off. "Shut up and be an adult. I'm freaked out."

"Yeah, why is that?" He wraps an arm around me and presses a kiss into my hair. "I didn't expect you to worry about this stuff after everything you said last night."

"Well, things look a lot different by the light of day." I pause. "Last night, it was just you and me, and it's right, and it's fun. But today, after this...you're someone else."

He smiles. "Who am I?"

I sit silently for a minute, trying to articulate it. Trying to adjust to the completely new post-coital vibe I'm having, feeling like I'm behaving in that hysterical female way I despise.

Eventually, I give him a small smile. "I propose we have pancakes after all."

He stretches up to reach the phone receiver, and I look for my bra. Before I leave, I crawl across the bed and accept a bite of blueberry pancakes off of Sam's fork, chewing them slowly and trying to memorize his face in this moment: rested, young, and happy, with a bead of maple syrup on the corner of his mouth. I kiss him, and it's sticky and sweet. He smiles, I smile, and then I turn and head for the door, feeling like my feet aren't even touching the floor.

I slip out the door quickly before I talk myself into turning back around and locking us in the coccoon of room 214 for the rest of the day.

I pause at the top of the stairs, balancing on one foot to slip one of my shoes on, and someone say my name.

"Eleanor?"

I look up, wary already by the use of my full name, and my stomach clenches. It's Dinah Weston, and she's wearing a strange expression, staring at me with a stupid, leftover smile on her face. Before I think better of it, my eyes flick to Sam's door, and I calculate how long it's taken me to walk to the end of the hall, and if there's any way she could know where I came from.

"Hey, Dinah," I answer, a little too brightly for my usual self, and this seems to make her more suspicious.

"What are you doing here?" She asks.

"I'm...delivering a message," I blurt out, then realize that's an idiotic reason to go somewhere when cell phones exist. "I mean, I was visiting a friend, and then I was going to talk to someone, because..they weren't answering their phone, and -"

I gave myself a mental slap. This was Dinah Weston, a Seaborn groupie who didn't have any damn business interrogating me on my whereabouts.

"What are _you_ doing here?" That's it. Turn the tables, Bartlet.

I had my hand on my hip, and I was just working up the kind of bravado that used to send Dinah cowering beind Margaret, when I heard a door open. Not moving my eyes to look, I released a solitary, desperate prayer that it was any door but 214.

Watching Dinah's eyes light up, I knew my miracle hadn't been granted. Before she could speak, I whirled around.

"Sam!"

He startled, looking panicked and confused when he registered the scene in front of him.

"Hi," He said, tone openly questioning.

I grabbed his hand, ready to do anything to abort the moment. "I'm supposed to pick you up for that meeting. I forgot your room number. Ready?"

He blinks at me. "Uh-huh."

"Great. Good to see you, Dinah!" I gripped Sam's fingers hard, and all but threw him into the stairwell, herding him down to the lobby in a panic. When we get there, I stop, panting, and stare at him, wild eyed.

He can't contain a laugh. "You're not exactly a Bond girl, kiddo."

"Well, you're not exactly _Bond_, Samuel," I snap, still getting over my scare. "That chick would sell us to a tabloid in one minute flat."

"She doesn't know anything," Sam said dismissively, "It's completely unsuspicious for us to be going to this thing."

I'm confused. "There's actually a thing now?"

He gestures to the garden area. "Breakfast meeting. Leo just called."

"But you just ate pancakes."

"I need the extra fuel. Someone kept me up late."

I roll my eyes, calm again, and start following him outside, picking my way around the other tables. "You better watch it, you're gonna get fat."

"You mean jolly."

"Only Santa Claus gets jolly, Seaborn. Normal people just get fat."

We reach the table, and Sam pulls out a chair for me next to Toby. I sit down and marvel over how, after waking up together and everything else that's happened this morning, we've managed to come in casually and appear normal, bantering as if it's any other day. The way he calms me down should be studied.

"Toby, Ellie's trying to give me an eating disorder."

Toby glances at him over the top of his menu. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Tell me I'm pretty."

"Josh went to park his car. You should go meet him."

"Tell me I'm perfect just the way I am."

"Seaborn..."

"I'm going."

He strides off, and I smile at the waiter who's come to give me coffee, half standing up to stretch my empty mug out to him. When I pull back and sit down, Toby is staring at me intensely, looking bothered by something.

I get a nervous twinge in my stomach and give him a faltering little smile, fidgeting around the table for the bowl of creamers. "Is this place too cheap for half and half or what?"

"You smell familiar," Toby says tightly, and his tone makes my toes clench in my shoes a little.

"Yeah, well, you've been living out of hotel rooms for the last year. I guess cheap soap all smells the same, huh?" I take a giant gulp of coffee, burning my mouth, hoping to squelch the topic. Praying that Toby Ziegler could manage to be stupid for just a few minutes until his curiosity passed.

I also manage to find time to curse Sam for using his special apple scented shower gel instead of hotel soap like a real man.

When I chance a look back at Toby, he's still squinting at me, as he silently tries to piece the puzzle together. Over his shoulder, I see Sam, Leo and Josh making their way over, talking animatedly, and I seize my last private moment. Laying my fork on the plate, I look Toby straight in the eyes and speak with as much meaning as I can convey. "For everyone's sake, I am begging you not to ask anything more."

As always, his face is so well schooled that it gives nothing away, but I can't imagine he's confused by my meaning. His eyes flick briefly to our impending guests as well, and when he turns back, I can tell he's also trying to cram his message into one casual sentence. "Ellie, for everyone's sake, I'm begging you to eliminate any reason to ask."

And the morning was going so well.

_Dammit, Toby._

_*****************  
_


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi guys - once again, I really appreciate the feedback! Superotter and alix33, thanks for sticking around since chapter 1! And thanks to D'Arcy, OutCold and Nicole10 for taking time to review. sash99: Yeah, you got me there. It IS more likely that she would have had a car and a stricter detail now that the election is over. D'oh. But thanks for noticing it.**

**I'd probably be writing it anyway, but it's a lot more fun knowing you guys are out there reading. Song lyrics are by The Fray. xoxo**

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**Sam  
**

***  
**

In a way, leaving was the most grown up thing Ellie had done since I met her.

This doesn't mean I wasn't completely baffled to learn she was gone, that she'd up and left for school early, without even giving me a chance to argue with her about it. Or to say I was sorry. Sorry for my lack of foresight, for putting both of us in a vulnerable situation, and for a million other things that may or may not have been my fault.

I picked up the phone a million times, but never dialed, not wanting to chase her if she didn't want to be chased.

*

_Some things we don't talk about_

_Rather do without, and just hold the smile..._

_*  
_

She knew that I wouldn't be good at letting go. I would probably try to work things out until they ended up as a byline in the Times, and she was completely is why I finally broke down and called her after all, a few weeks into her first semester of school.

I'd spent at least an hour replaying the last time I saw her in my head; the two of us, sneaking a kiss in the hallway of my hotel, just after the staff breakfast when she'd suddenly seemed so tense and distracted. I had asked her, but she'd insisted she was fine. And the next day, she was gone.

It was late. I'd had a beer or three. I missed her, and even though I half hoped I wouldn't get through, she picked up on the second ring, obviously woken from sleep.

"Mm-mm?"

"Ellie?...It's Sam."

She laughed sleepily, and I could hear that kitten sound she makes when she stretches. "I know who it is, Seaborn. What can I do for you?"

I swallowed hard. "You kind of took off on me, kiddo."

There was a pause, and I heard a lamp clicking on. When she spoke again, she sounded more awake, more aware of what was going on. "I know. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be, I just..." I rubbed a hand over my face. "What happened? Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" She sounded mildly surprised. "No, I just thought it'd be...easier, I guess. I was leaving anyway, and hanging around was just going to mean further..."

"Attachment?" I supplied.

"I figured I was doing us both a favor," She said softly, "Making it simple. No goodbyes, you know?"

"No goodbyes," I agreed, pushing an empty beer bottle in little circles on the kitchen table, trying to remember that this is how Ellie works, and that I knew that going in. She doesn't get too close, doesn't commit. Also, she's a lot younger than I am, and I can't selfishly expect her not to want to be unattached -

"It's not because I wanted to slut it up at school," She said, interpreting my silence correctly and clarifying, "I can hear you thinking it."

Usually it freaks me out when she knows what I'm thinking, but this time it makes me laugh. "If there's anything I've learned about you, Bartlet, it's that you're not a slut so much as a very effective tease."

"Huh." She pondered, "That's an improvement, I think. Maybe you could mention that to my Dad, because he's pretty sure it's the other way around."

"Yeah. I'll go ahead and slip it into Staff tomorrow morning."

She laughed quietly, then cleared her throat. "I'm gonna go back to bed, Sam."

*

_Picture, you're the queen of everything, as far as the eye can see, under your command..._

_*  
_

This is where her hereditary talent for oratory shows itself, because only Bartlet Senior could manage to convey that many volumes in one statement. The firmness of her tone told me she was ending the call, and that she thought it should probably be the last one we had. There was also a sweetness in it that thanked me. For what, I wasn't sure.

*

_I will be your guardian, when all is crumbling, I'll steady your hand..._

_*  
_

"Yeah, of course," I agreed, but just before I put the phone back down, something stopped me. "Ellie?"

There was a clunk on the line as she pulled the receiver back to her ear. "Yeah?"

"I, uh...I'm here for you, you know" I stumbled out. "I mean, if you need something, or if you ever want...anything, whatever. I'm here."

"Thanks, Sam," She said quietly, in a level tone that let me know she was taking me seriously for once. She hung up then, and didn't reciprocate the sentiment, but I never expected her to. I knew how she felt. I understood her much better than either of us were probably comfortable with.

I'm fortunate that I have an immense new job to throw myself at. I'm fortunate that people need my attention twenty-four hours a day, so that I don't have a spare minute to think about the fact that I met someone incredible that I can't have, for a myriad of reasons. Very good reasons.

*

_Don't let me go, don't let me go, don't me go..._

_*  
_

I know that eventually that will feel good enough, but tonight it still feels raw. Luckily, the beer has helped make me drowsy, and I flip on CNN and stay on the couch, waiting for tomorrow.

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**Ellie**

After we hang up, I collapse back onto the pillow and accept the fact that I won't be able to sleep again.

Mom has warned me for a long time that one of my little conquests will turn into something real, and I won't know what to do about it. She's warned me that I'm going to hurt someone eventually, and I almost can't stand that it's Sam.

Knowing how horribly wrong it could go for him is the only thing that gave me the strength to leave the way I did, smiling, giving nothing away, and not looking back because I just couldn't. To go straight back to the Residence and pack, and head to Baltimore almost two weeks early.

I miss seeing him every day. I miss the connection. I miss the compulsions and the wordplay and the obsessively ironed shirts. I'm throwing myself into school and believing it will all fade, because it always does. But I wish it could fade faster, because whether or not I want it to matter, I let go of something special and I don't want to feel that emptiness anymore.

*

_You can never say never, while we don't know when_

_But time and time again, younger now than we were before..._

_*  
_

I reach under my bed and retrieve my bio textbook, resigning to try to study my way back to sleep.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hope that this can mean something good instead of something bad. That I'm growing up, maybe. That I'm learning how to play the sick, convoluted chess game that life is, where we're never quite allowed to have what we want.

It was true what I said at that awful Inauguration dinner all those weeks ago. I'll miss him.

*

_Don't let me go, don't let me go, don't let me go..._

*

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**Okay, so, this is not really the end of the story. But it is the end of 'Undone', which is the very lengthy Prologue to the story I actually intended to write, Memento Vivere, which I am posting the first chapter of now. Hope you'll joing me over there to see what happens next. ;)**


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